Nocturne
by MessyJess
Summary: Booth's POV, the dreams and reality of Brennan


NOCTURNE

Her skin was interesting. Not like silk or satin or any of that poetic crap. It was smooth, to be sure, but somehow it felt thick under his fingers. It felt firm and warm. He relished the contrast of her smooth thigh beneath his calloused trigger finger, his darker skin standing out against her ivory flesh.

He was kneeling between her knees. She was laid back on the bed, shifting with need for him to keep going, and her legs restless under his palms. He tightened his grip on her thighs, not hard enough to leave a bruise, but hard enough for her to know that he was in charge. And right now he wanted her legs to open for him. He pushed her thighs apart so that her knees were almost touching the bed on either side of his hips. He leaned forward and down and could feel the heat of her beckon from her core.

He pursed his lips a gently blew a puff of air across her center. He heard her moan from above his head, her name drifting from her mouth on a breathless whimper. He blew another quick puff across her skin, and before it could even settle, before she could moan her unfulfilled desires he swiped his tongue along her folds and briefly circled the bundle of nerves. She sighed her pleasure and so he did it again, and again, and again. His left hand began to creep up her leg, nearing the conflux of her thighs.

He pressed a finger into her, curving the digit to stroke her walls, until he heard her sharpened panting. Knowing he had just hit upon that glorious spot within her he drew his finger out and added another before he pressed them back into her, brushing against the spot inside her that made her clench around his fingers. After moments of compounded activity with his mouth and fingers, he decided to push her off the cliff, and he clamped his lips around her clit and pushed persistently against her internal pleasure spot.

She buckled underneath his mouth and hands, her back arching and words of delight tumbling from her mouth. She grabbed at his shoulders, his hair, his ears, and his neck anywhere she could reach. He felt her shaking beneath him and he hooked his ankles around her calves to keep her from tossing him off of her in her thrashing orgasm. As the waves finished rolling over her he eased away from her, leaning back to sit on his ankles and watch her face as she floated down from her fall off of the cliff.

His eyes met hers. Her blue eyes shining and her mouth twisted in a devilish grin.

"Now it's your turn, Booth," and he fell backwards over his feet as she lunged forward from her position on top of the pile of pillows.

That was about the time he woke up, alone in bed, sweaty, with a hard on that just wouldn't quit. He sighed in hopeless, but familiar, frustration. His head rolled to one side to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. The shrill tone bleating at him to wake up, ruining a perfectly good fantasy for the hundredth time. He smacked his hand across the top of the persistent contraption and successfully defeated the annoying chirping.

He sat up and swung his feet down to the cool wood floor of his bedroom. He propped his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face into wakefulness as it rested in his hands. He slowly walked to the bathroom to begin another day. No longer surprised by the dreams that he had of her. He used to wake up in a panic. Fearful of what it all meant, and how he would handle himself after dreaming so explicitly about her. But now, it was commonplace. He would go to work, do his job, work alongside the good doctor, and quickly diffuse any feeling of attraction that popped up in the real world. Just another day at the office.

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He was sitting in her office. She was on the phone speaking heatedly about something to do with her book. He wasn't really listening. He was watching her move around her desk, shuffling through pieces of paper. She was standing and had the phone cradled between her ear and her shoulder as she leaned over a pile of papers. He could see down her shirt. She normally wore button up shirts under her little blazers and jackets, but not today. Today she had on a red v-neck sweater. She also had on a green bra. He was intrigued by her choice of lingerie, and idly wondered if her panties matched.

Probably didn't. She was probably oblivious to those sorts of things. He looked away from her for a moment to concentrate on anything other than the cleavage across the room. He looked out through the glass walls of her office to the lab. No one was there. The place was silent and empty except for Bones' voice. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the couch he was slouched on. His mind couldn't move past the color green. Green grass, green beans, St. Patrick's Day, mistletoe…oh, Christ, don't think about mistletoe. But there it was, and his eyes popped open and drifted to the spot on her ceiling where the bit of shrubbery had hung over them as they kissed for the first, and only, time.

He stared at the blank space, almost imagining he could see the phantom outline of the sprig against the white tile of the ceiling. Then he heard the resolute click of her phone being set back in its cradle. He lifted his head in time to see her coming across the room toward the couch. She plopped down next to him with a sigh. This sigh was different from the ones in his dreams. This was a sigh of resignation, Bones unwillingly relenting to what someone else wants. He knew she hated doing it. He distantly heard her apologize for the interrupting phone call and they did the back and forth of 'no problems' and 'what were we doings'.

They hunkered back down to the massive amount of paperwork that littered the floor at their feet and sat in thick piles next to them on the couch. Occasionally asking each other for an answer, or, in his case, a spelling. He occasionally looked through the glass walls for some sort of distraction from the monotony, a distraction that wasn't Bones' green bra.

There was nothing out there but cold steel, and she was so warm sitting next to him that he had to fight the urge to lean into her. They were all alone, an island of two breathing bodies surrounded by the clinical confines of death. All alone, but together. Unbidden, another of his fantasies involving the empty lab and nudity beneath a lab coat burst into his mind. He cleared his throat against the coming tide of self-imposed torture. Flashing vignettes of arching bodies, the slick slide of tongues, the moisture of panting breaths fogging the metal of an examination table pulsed through his mind. He turned his head back to the papers in his lap and he blinked, hoping to banish the unwelcome thoughts from his mind. He shifted on the couch, and in doing so, his arm brushed against hers.

It was involuntary, the shiver that raced through him. She asked if he was cold and he shook his head in a mute and embarrassed response. No, he was not cold, he was hot, too hot. He made the mistake of looking at her then. Everything inside him tilted toward her, as though she were a magnet. He shifted again at the sensation. He felt like he was falling, and then he felt her catch him. His face was so close to hers, and her hand had come up to rest against his chest. She wasn't pushing him back, but she wasn't pulling him forward either, so he braced his body against the tugging sensation and hovered inches away from her. The hand that had been laying flat above his heart slowly closed, pulling a fistful of his shift into its grip. And then he felt the tugging start again, the gravity of her hand clenched in his shirt and the gravity of her slightly parted lips pulling him into orbit.

Their mouths pressed against each other. Desire rolled over him like a wave. He clutched at her then, never wanting to wake up, and then belatedly remembering that this wasn't a dream. This was real. Her mouth was on his. Her lips pillowed against his as her tongue skimmed along the inside of his mouth. The wet and the heat of her making him dizzy as she pulled him harder against her and his arms tightened around her. They were locked together, their island of breathing bodies now sharing each other's breath. From far away he heard the creak of the couch and the crinkling rasp of papers being smothered, but he didn't care.

He leaned and she yielded. They drifted down onto the couch, and the press of their bodies made him shudder. Her hands snaked around his ribs and she hugged him to her. He didn't know how long they kissed, but they were wrenched apart by the startling sound of his phone. They stared at each other for a moment and then he slowly leaned up and off of her, resuming his sitting position on the red couch. She did the same and they looked at each other again and she gave him a light nod, telling him it was okay to answer.

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They stood in the darkness of the woods looking at the bones scattered on the dead leaves. It was cold, and he felt her shiver next to him, and he wished he could hold her, but had to settle for simply moving slightly closer. There were lights moving around them and the crunching of booted feet scurried to document and collect. But they stood still. He looked at her then and she looked back. They stood there, still an island unto themselves, and he breathed a sigh of relief, and so did she. She approached the remains then, kneeling as usual, talking to him over her shoulder as usual, and everything was as usual. But, he knew that tonight, when he drove her home, he would kiss her again. He knew that he would be warm again, and so would she. They would share each other's breath and more, and when he woke up, she would be next to him.


End file.
